I felt slightly sick as I followed Adam to his house, remembering too many dates that had been ruined by Lanie, too many times Adam had driven me home in tears because someone told me they had just seen my sister and, boy, was she wasted. The worst, of course, had been that other early fall night, back in 2003, just a few months after our mother had left.
I had known something was wrong the moment Adam pulled up to the curb. It was one minute to midnight and Aunt A’s house was lit up like a Christmas tree, lights shining on every floor and the unmistakable flicker of the television through the living room window, while the front door stood ajar. Bubbles perched on the front porch swing, carefully licking a paw.
Dread heavy in my chest, I brushed off Adam’s attempt at a good-night kiss and vaulted from the car. I raced up the porch steps, my pounding heart nearly shattering my rib cage with its wild rhythm. I scooped up Bubbles, who meowed loudly in protest and slashed at me with his claws, and carried the cat through the house as I called out for my family. There was no answer. I was throwing open the cellar door in complete and utter desperation when I heard them mount the porch steps. Dropping Bubbles, I raced into the living room to meet them.
There were only two of them.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “I came home and the house was wide open. I was really scared.”
Aunt A dropped her keys on the foyer table and exhaled a rattling sigh. “Your sister tried to kill herself.”
I think my heart stopped beating. I know I stopped breathing. My entire existence hinged on the word tried.
“Tried?”
“She swallowed half a bottle each of vodka and what was left of your mother’s Valium before she came into my room and told me that she had changed her mind. She didn’t want to die after all.” Aunt A sniffled and shook her head, a failed attempt at concealing her tears. “We got her there in time, honey. She’s going to be all right.”
A sob ripped its way from my throat. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m sorry, Josie. She told us not to.”
“What? Why?”
“Because your sister is a crazy bitch,” Ellen muttered before stalking up the stairs.
Aunt A frowned after Ellen. “I’m sorry,” she said to me before climbing the stairs herself, leaving me to wonder exactly what she was apologizing for.
I spent that night tangled in a series of increasingly bloody dreams. My relief at waking lasted only until my eyes landed on Lanie’s empty bed, and reality washed over me. I had to see her. I stomped down to the kitchen and voiced my demand.
The coffee cup wavered in Aunt A’s hand. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“She’s my twin sister,” I insisted, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. “She tried to kill herself. I have to see her.”
“Josie—”
“She’s all I have left. Please, Aunt A. I have to see her.”
“All right,” Aunt A said, nodding grimly. “I understand. I’d feel the same way if I were in your position. But honey, I have to warn you: she might not be too happy to see you.”
Once the elevator had deposited me on the third floor—the pediatric ward—I almost lost my nerve. The hospital smelled like rubbing alcohol and sickness, and the third floor was haunted by pale, whisper-like children. I hated to think of my sister in a place like that because she had thought that being dead was better than being alive. I couldn’t understand what she had been thinking. We might not have perfect lives, but we had each other. That had to count for something.
“Hi,” I said, stepping into her room.
Lanie was propped against a pillow, staring out the window, her reflection uncharacteristically bleak. I shivered.
“Lanie,” I tried again. “How are you doing?”
Lanie whipped her head around to face me so quickly that her hair, clumpy with grease, spun around her like a carnival ride. She glared through raw, red eyes and hissed in a hoarse voice, “How do you think I’m doing?”
I shifted my weight uncomfortably and wished that I’d taken Aunt A’s advice, or at least asked her to come with me.
“Cat got your tongue?” she sneered. “Or are you just at a loss for words when the topic isn’t super-fun pep rallies and super-important schoolwork and your super-special goody-two-shoes boyfriend?”
Blood rushed to my cheeks and hot tears burned a path down my face. “Lanie, what’s going on?”
“I tried to kill myself last night,” Lanie said, narrowing her eyes and keeping her voice absurdly calm. “I took a lethal combination of prescription drugs and alcohol. While you were on your sweet little date, probably knitting sweaters for homeless kittens and saving the goddamn whales with your virgin boyfriend, I was trying to sedate myself out of existence. That is what’s going on.”
I sucked in my breath. “Does this have something to do with me?”
She laughed shortly, a harsh laugh that ended in a choking cough that caused her to clutch at her throat and wince in pain. Blinking watery eyes, she arranged her features in an expression of disdain and said, “Of course you’d think that. Try to be less self-involved, Josie. The only person this has anything to do with is me. I’m just illustrating the difference between our evenings.” She swallowed and grimaced. “But you know what? Turns out we have more in common than I thought. It’s true: you and me, sister, we’re nothing but mice. I thought being timid was your jam, but I found out that when it counts, I’m just as scared as you. I couldn’t go through with it. Now get out.”
Discussion thread on www.reddit.com/r/reconsideredpodcast, posted September 29, 2015
more Lanie B gossip (self.reconsideredpodcast)
submitted 1 hour ago by elmparkuser1
I know some people in this sub think that we spend too much time on Lanie’s obvious issues, but something I think Poppy missed that’s important is this: in October 2003 (or thereabouts) Lanie Buhrman intentionally overdosed. I’ve always wondered if she tried to kill herself because she felt guilty about railroading Warren. Or . . . because she killed her father herself.
toopunkrockforthis -3 points 1 hour ago You’re disgusting. Take your baseless accusations somewhere else.
caffeinecold 18 points 1 hour ago
Hi, Lanie!
chapter 20
You have to take care of the people you love, she had said. Or you lose them.
I hadn’t taken care of my sister. That morning’s phone call had been a cry for help, and I had ignored it. I had done nothing for thirteen hours while my sister fell even further to pieces. Adam had warned me she was fragile, and I had let decade-old hurt feelings stop me from helping her.
“Are you okay?” Adam asked, glancing over at me while he unlocked the front door. “You look kind of white.”